It's been a month since he started at Hogwarts, caught in the web of manipulation and lies. It's not what he imagined, not what he had hoped the new world would be. He'd take in the people around him, noting the small things, what he could use against them. Ruin them. But he can't. Not now and not ever. At least while he's under the guise of Gryffindor Golden Boy. The headmaster holds too much power, to much say in this world. Even the minister is a bloody idiot with the brain cells of Ronald Weasley.
The only plus about this new world is he was away from the Dursleys, away from the people who tried to break him. Beat him until he was the perfect little house elf. Those scars were there for eternity, forever littering his back and chest.
Harry was growing bored. There's no one that's like him. Broken, pieced back together with the weakest tape and willing to play the game with him.
But there isn't a way to do that, to find someone like him, so he goes through the motions, slaps on the little happy go lucky mask that's always seeking approval and hot headed as expected. He plays the hero perfectly, plays them all into thinking he'll save them one day.
Why would he save the world that never saved him, who left him to people who treated him like dirt? Why would he save a group of people who he wished to see burned alive? He dreamed of that, trapping as many of his fellow "wizards and witches" in a room and just setting them all ablaze.
He thinks he might one day when he's finally had enough.
And then he's in the middle of Potions, the professor breathing down his neck like a rabid dog. He wished to gouge the man's eyes out and then feed him them.
And then the world froze.
He glanced around, looking at all of the frozen children and the professor snarling in his face, and he wonders: what caused such a feet? But there is a woman, long golden curly hair with bright blue eyes, staring at him.
"Hello, Master."
Harry blinks, not entirely sure how to take this turn of events. But he's sure he can take the change, make it into something that is positive for him. "Hello... and you are?"
"I am Death, your servant." She's smiling now, curtsying in front of him. "And I've come to help give you entertainment."
He stares at her, eyes calculating all the ways this encounter might go. "And how would you do that?"
"There is another boy, someone I feel you'll find makes a great playmate. He's just like you, just a bit less powerful." She's smiling sweetly now, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.
Harry is most definitely interested, a small smirk on his face, his eyes gleaming in dark amusement. "Oh? And what's the price?"
She's smirking with him now. "Immortality."
"And what does this title, Master, gift me with?"
He's out of his chair, staring at her with his head tilted slightly. They're withing touching distance now.
She runs her fingers down his cheek before cupping it gently. "It makes you the most powerful being in all the universes. It makes you Master of Death, God among men."
"Well then, tell me what I need to know and then take me to him."
"Of course Master."